


Family Memories

by black_hat_with_bells



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_hat_with_bells/pseuds/black_hat_with_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts: Elle ends up on a sugar high and caffeine overdose from too much Slush-O.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Memories

**Author's Note:**

> CRACKfic. Any resemblence to real life people...is completely deliberate)

When Elle came out of the convenience store with four slushies, Sylar didn’t know what to think.

Well, actually he did. He thought that his thoughtful, sweet girl had considered him while she was getting drinks. She got in the car, and he reached for one.

She acted like he had made a mad lunge before she pulled the tray back.

“…Those are all for you?”

“Yeah, I’m holding them, aren’t I? You wouldn’t believe it, I hit the jackpot! They had grape, cherry, diet coke, strawberry…I didn’t expect a choice thrown at me! So I chose them all.”

“That’s kind of pointless. What’s the point of having a special treat if you chose everything?”

“I didn’t want anyone to feel left out.”

“It’s ice,” he protested, throwing the car in gear. “Water. It’ll all be the same in your stomach.”

“You’re such a sourpuss. I would have gotten you one if you had asked.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t want your ice. I can make my own ice. But I don’t because it’s just water, flavored with other stuff, like rain and mud puddles and sewage drains.”

“Then we all win,” she chirped happily. On the expressway, things moved at a different time. Had to. Because she was sipping each one in turn. He should have had a bad feeling about it. His instincts failed him this time.

“…Wow,” she whispered, holding a hand to her head and curling up in the seat. “I’m cold.”

“You just ingested gallons of ice. Of course you’re cold. I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

She touched her hand to his face, and he winced from the chill. “Stop that,” he snapped, wiping his cheek.

“I want to watch TV,” she muttered, moving her legs up and down.

“Then you’re out of luck.”

"Talk to me. Don’t let me go to sleep…”

It took Sylar a minute to realize what she had meant. “You can’t die from hypothermia from a slushie.”

“But I think I’m dying. Things are all bright and fuzzy.”

“You’re not. Dying.”

“Favorite childhood-book story,” she said.

He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I was always partial to Robin Hood. I wanted a bow and arrow set once, for my birthday. You can imagine how that went down. I was stuck in church for a month after.”

“Aw, I can get you a bow. We can go to the park and break it in. Or better yet, we could go find Claire and use her for target practice.”

“No need. Besides it was childish. Stupid.”

She frowned. “Favorite childhood movie.”

“Maybe The Land Before Time…NO. The Neverending Story! Do you remember that movie?”

“I don’t like kiddie movies.”

Sylar had walked into a trap. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “So, no favorites?”

“I have a least favorite. E.T.”

“How can you not like E.T? It’s a great story, with an inspirational metaphor.”

“Why did he want to call home so badly? Seemed like he was a spy because earth would be way better. We have slushies.”

“You missed the point. He gets left behind by his family and then is reunited.”

“So you liked it because it was similar to like, a biblical metaphor?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Elle shrugged. “Never mind. They probably just came back because he was running up the long distance phone bill.”

Okay. That stung, just a little. He gave her a look, and she was oblivious, putting her bare feet right up against the air conditioning. After several, several moments of long silence, she finally caught on.

“…You’re projecting on the little alien-robot thingy with a mushroomed-shaped head?”

“No,” he said. “You shouldn’t drink anymore slushies. They go to your head.”

“…You know, we’re kind of family now. You and me, huh?”

He shrugged, hiding any reaction. That was…a really…he felt a sudden warmth in his chest that he ignored.

“Huh?” she inquired again.

“If you want to think about it that way, I won’t tell you not to.”  
“Well, good! I do. You know what I really like, though? Theme songs. ‘Green mile is the place for me.’”

He literally guffawed, thinking she was kidding. But no. She really messed up the lyrics, rather grievously.

“’Fine living is the life for….”

“Me,” he filled in, smiling. Her memory was selective, it seemed.

She clapped her hands, singing about the green mile. Hopefully not prophetic. They hit the city an hour later.

The streets were ridiculously crowded, and he squinted in the sunlight, searching for a reason.

“What’s going on?” she asked, bouncing in her seat.

Then he found the reason. He smirked, shaking his head. “American Idol. Look at all these sill-.”

“STOP THE CAR!” she shrieked, and he skidded to a stop, pulling over the sidewalk. He turned to stare at her, worried.

“Are you okay?”

Elle almost bounced out of the car, and he grabbed her arm to stop her from bouncing out into the busy street.

She giggled and intertwined her still-cold fingers in his hands, bouncing his hands up and down, overly bright. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?!”

“…no, I don’t want to go play in the traffic today.”

“Sometimes you’re so funny. What a weird idea.”

“What were you thinking then, angel mine, that made you scream in my ear and almost made us have a ten-car pileup,” he asked, sweetly, zen-like with patience at the bouncing girl in front of him.

“Let’s try out for American IDOL!” she squealed.

Sylar expected her to laugh in jest. Elle didn’t. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course! Look at me. I’m hot.”

He laughed in surprise. “I thought you were cold.”

“And you heard me sing! I have a great voice! I just hadn’t realized it until I got you—you—to sing along! You even bobbed your head! If you like it—then dayum!”

Sylar was about to start the car again, but her face was radiant with excitement. And the nearly infinite possibility for absolute hilarity and future mocking material…was too much temptation for a man who couldn’t resist much anyway.

“Well, this is a once-in-a-life time opportunity,” he said, smiling at her. “I’d be crazy to miss this.”

“Yay!” she chirped.

***

Sylar wasn’t going to wait in line for hours behind every average Joe that had scurried out to infest the city streets for this thing. No last number for him or Elle.

“Here,” he said, giving her a filled-out application with a number. He led her to the beginning of the line.

“How’d you get it?”

“I convinced her that she didn’t want to be in such a degrading and ignoble endeavor.”

“Damn right! Only talented people can do that!”

Sylar smiled despite himself, and put his arm around her while they waited for the lone person in front of them.

“That’s not Simon!” Elle protested at the group of people in the next room, behind the table.

“They must screen people first.”

She looked up at him, nervously. She was still bouncing from foot to foot. Obviously still sugar-high. He rubbed her arms reassuringly. “Just do your best.”

“What if someone else is better?”

“Don’t worry. Only you can sound like you. No one can sing it like you. Then it’s special from you. Huh?”

She beamed up at him and she nearly skipped into the white room. He sat in the chair by the wall, crossing his arms.

“Hello there,” a bald man said, nodding. “And who might you be?”

“My name is Elle Bishop!”

“It said here ‘Elaine West’.”

“This is my stage name!”

“Oh,” they cooed, and Sylar looked down at his feet, amused. “Well, you do have a fresh face. What do you have to sing for us today?”

“Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

“Always a classic. Go for it,” the man said.

And she went for it. Sylar was kind of…shocked. Not literally as was usual in her case but…in the car, she hadn’t sounded that bad. Maybe it was the icy drink that had deepened her voice. Maybe it was the car acoustics. Maybe it was that he…kinda sang along, just a little. Maybe now she was trying a little too, uh, hard, in that overzealous way.

In the car, she had sounded bubbly and up-beat, a little bubble of light. Now, she sounded like a cat running through a washing machine, waving her arms about.  
Something inside of him shriveled up and died. This could be ability in itself. If she had used this particular skill on him, he would have been toast, would have stayed dead with the damage down to the brain.

And he felt a little bad about this, letting her do this affected by sugar and caffeine. He crossed his arms, not giving an expression.

And he felt a little bad about this, letting her do this affected by sugar and caffeine. He crossed his arms, not giving an expression.

“I’m…speechless,” a woman said. He tightened his jaw.

“Elle Bishop…you are a must-have for our tryout!”

Sylar’s mouth dropped open, and Elle jumped up in mid-air, in a cheer. “Thankyouthankyou!”

She grabbed his hand, pulling him outside the door. “Can you believe it, Gabriel!”

“Yes. I think we can sneak out back.”

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Why?”

They were making fun of her. She was a must-have because they wanted to continue making sport of her. He was already resisting the urge to do irreparable damage to their voice boxes.

“It’s okay. Some people don’t know a great thing when they see it.”

Not mention of hearing—right. “We’ll just chalk this up-.”

“I made the cut!” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re just jealous.”

He stared down at her in disbelief. “You think I’m trying to ruin your chances of winning?”

“You, sir, are a…” She searched for the word and seized upon it. “A saboteur.”

“A saboteur,” he muttered. He had to bite his lip for a minute, to control his temper. She must have been high to say that to him.

“Uh-huh,” Elle said, and he put his hands on her shoulders. She had a suspicious look on her face.

“…You’re right. I’m jealous. You hit notes that no other living being on the planet could hit.”

“Really?” she asked, bouncing again.

“Trust me. I won’t get in the way. You completely…deserve your fifteen minutes.”

She hugged him.

“I’m so glad you’re supporting my dream. You’re so my family now.”

He almost burst out laughing but managed to maintain himself.

“Then, angel, let’s go make some memories.”

***

“So this is your dream,” Ryan Seacrest asked Elle.

Sylar was in the corner, watching. She was getting a lot of attention. All sorts of attention. He wasn’t actually jealous. Not at all.

The singing had been bad. He hadn’t imagined it, right? Sometimes, sure, he skewed things a little—interpretation to completely subjective things absent of fact—that’s the nature of the beast. (and the best)

“Ever since I was a little girl.”

Was not, Sylar thought, bitterly. Ever since thirty minutes ago, born from cherry slushies. He could sing, you know. Yes, he could. He sang for church. He was damn good. He could sing circles around her. This was stupid, though. Ridiculous. He wouldn’t deign to get involved with this, he wouldn’t sink this low. Sylar didn’t care. Not him.

“In what way? Is singing your passion?”

“Nah, it’s for the money, pretty much,” she said, shrugging.

“O, oh.”

Sylar had to walk away from that one.  
***

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I COULD GET WORK AT A SLAUGHTER HOUSE KILLING THE COWS WITH MY VOICE!?”

Sylar ran towards the door, grinning despite himself. He knew she sucked, hahahaha! Seacrest ran alongside of him, as the blue light burned under the door.

“I wouldn’t touch that!” Sylar said, knocking him back from the doorknob. He touched the doorknob himself, a cool customer, as he thought he had managed controlling his muscles from her shocks.

Well—his control wasn’t that perfect.

His hand and arm muscles locked, and he figured he had to cut the doorknob off—then he cut too high.

“Oh my god, YOUR HAND!” Seacrest yelped.

“That’s what I get for buying cheap limbs on the black market,” Sylar said, snidely. “What do you say, lend a guy a hand?”

Seacrest ran. Sylar cussed, and burst through the door.

It was an amazing light show, and the judges were hiding under the bench. She was lit up like a Christmas tree.

“ELLE!” he yelled, trying to get her attention.

“I’m GOING TO FRY SOME PORK! FREAKING PIGS!”

“DON’T!” Sylar yelled and jumped in front of the bolt of electricity. He took the jolt right in the chest and he flew backwards.

“GOING LIGHT UP YOUR LIFE, JACKASSES!”

“STOP!” He pushed her back. “Elle. Angel! Come on, calm down!”

She lowered the voltage, staring at him broken hearted—burning off all her sugar-good feelings.

“They were mean to me,” she said, softly. And now he felt bad. He approached her and hugged her.

“I know. I’m sure they are…very sorry…Aren’t you?” he addressed the table.

“TERRIBLY,” one said.

“I told you, you never know how people express their feeli-.”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m not that bad, am I?” Elle asked him, her chin on his chest, looking up at him.

“No,” he said, touching her face gently. “You’re too good for them.”

“Yeah right.”

“Elle, you almost knocked them dead.”

She laughed, wiping her eyes. “I guess…I’ll keep my day-job. It’s way more exciting than this boring stuff anyway.”

“Do me a favor, angel, and burn the carpet. No blood stains.”

“Ewww, what’s up with the hand severance?”

“Hey, no fingerprints,” he said and picked up his hand, still holding on the knob.

On his way out, he took the video out of the camera, feeling the strange and unfamiliar feeling of pride.

Family memories, to be sure.

“I’ll never drink another slushie again,” Elle vowed on their way home, sullenly staring out the window.

“…I think the radio is busted again. Can’t get a signal…and I need music to drive. Whatever shall we do to fix this?”

She smirked, and started to sing. Timidly at first, then she went all out.

It was bad, when he thought about it, but he wouldn’t trade this family for the world.


End file.
